


Déteindre

by spilledinkwitch



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence, Drama, Gen, Not Beta Read, POV First Person, Probably not historically-accurate, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-29 02:10:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15719775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilledinkwitch/pseuds/spilledinkwitch
Summary: “My hands are stained with your blood … Now the earth shall be stained with theirs.”After a mission goes horribly wrong, Shay Cormac reflects on recent events and his allegiance to the Assassins.





	Déteindre

**Author's Note:**

> In 2014, I wrote this one-shot around the time I conceived [Soliloquy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15695826), before Assassin’s Creed: Rogue was released. I love to explore theories, even if only little bits of official information are available at the time. Basically, this piece came to me while trying to come up with possible reasons why Shay would turn against the Assassin Order. As for any romance in this story, there isn’t much except for an implied Shay/OC.
> 
> I suppose it doesn’t need to be said, but I’ll say it again anyway: This story will not be historically accurate (or perfectly in-line with the game, obviously) so expect a lot of inconsistencies. There are some AC: Unity references, and ties to my other fic _Soliloquy_ as well.

* * *

“It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.”

―William Blake

* * *

 

**PRESENT**

As I sit here, with your blood on my hands, I am drawn back into the memory—the memory of when I had been an utter fool, when I was too weak to stand up for what was just.

The image is still vivid: Your dark hair, your determined eyes—and the slow drain of life as your soul departed. And the house, set aflame, the stench of burning flesh and death upon my tongue.

It all happened because of me, because I was reckless, naive, unwise … A brash idiot. What am I fighting for? Chaos? Anarchy? I did not join the Assassins to spread discord throughout the world; I want freedom and stability, not … _this._

I peel off my crimson-smeared robes and slip into the bath; though the blood washes away in the sud-filled water, the material is eternally tainted. After scrubbing the red stains and dirt from my skin, I lean back, closing my eyes.

And I recall the days leading up to this disastrous evening.

 

**PAST**

No sooner than when I was recruited into the Assassins, I had already been tasked with my first important mission. Templar influence has been growing at an exponential rate in Europe, and persecution is at an all-time high in Ireland. They use the religious dissension of my countrymen as an opportunity to foment violence and grasp control.

And despite this, my Mentor has sent me to France where an even larger conflict is beginning to brew.

The Paris bureau, though bigger in size than the one in Dublin, appears to outsiders as nothing more than a run-down dwelling suited for peasants. Though upon closer inspection, the Order conducts most of their crucial meetings underground—which is where I find myself on the day of my arrival. With me are two other Apprentices and our Mentor, Mathieu Géroux.

“We must retrieve these documents at any cost,” he explains, his expression perfectly mirroring his dire tone.

“At _any_ cost?” the woman beside me, Isabelle de Luca, questions with a fairly thick accent. “But if there are—”

Mathieu shoots her a scathing frown. “These are of _utmost_ importance, recruit.”

She hushes, and I glance at her; she exudes a sort of fierceness most would not expect from someone of her stature. Though it may have come with the territory; Isabelle is from a noble family located in Rome, and she had been disenfranchised due to her parents’ involvement with the Templars.

“We shall get you these documents,” Erec Rousseau, another newly inducted Assassin, says.

“Good, good,” Mathieu says, his eyes then drifting to me. “Is what I have said clear enough? These documents _must_ stay out of British and Templar hands. If they were to obtain them …” He trails off, his words already an indicator of the grim possibilities.

I nod obediently, and he turns away, motioning for us to leave. Isabelle and I exchange looks whilst Erec scurries up the stairs like his heels are on fire. I shake my head and follow, with the Italian recruit in tow.

Neither of us say a word even after making it to the first floor; it’s almost as if we have a silent, mutual understanding. Once we arrive at the dormitory, she pulls open a door and gestures for me to enter, which I do without inquiry.

She shuts out the rest of the Bureau, and turns to me. “I do not like the sound of this,” she says as she begins to pace the sparsely-furnished bedroom. “I feel there is something he is not telling us—something important.”

“Don’t they always leave something out?” I try to joke, but she doesn’t even crack a smile. “We are only Apprentices; it is not our place to question our Mentor’s orders.” She stops pacing and frowns at me. “But,” I continue, “I get the same feeling. Are we to cut down anyone who gets in our way? And just why are these documents worth throwing our lives away over?”

“You said it yourself,” she says, sitting on the bed. “We are not in any place to question orders.”

“Though it doesn’t mean we cannot do a little investigating of our own, right?”

This time, she smiles. “I like the way you think, Mr. Cormac.”

“Call me Shay,” I say with a wink. I begin to reach for the knob and stop briefly to add, “If you find anything out, feel free to visit my room; it’s three doors down from this side.”

Her smile is warm, a stark contrast to her earlier demeanor. “Will do … _Shay_.”

 

That evening was the beginning of an affable kinship.

In the days that followed, I couldn’t help but let my feelings expand for this mysterious firecracker of a woman. But was it a mistake to allow her electrifying touch—and her heady wiles—to overwhelm my sense?

Or was it a miracle in disguise, an epiphany forcing me to open my eyes to the corruption infecting those who claim to fight for the good of humanity?

I would come to the realization too late …

 

The Assassins, if good at anything, are adept at purging their paper trails. Upon further investigation, I was unable to find any substantial evidence that would pinpoint our Mentor’s reasoning behind the mission. I understand that there is a war bubbling just underneath the surface, but why the unscrupulous methods?

I do not like it, this feeling. My instinct tells me to object, to refuse my task. But what would that grant me? My ejection from the Brotherhood, no doubt—or maybe something worse.

By the time we were to set out for the manor, it was already nightfall. Isabelle and Erec met me outside of a tavern some distance from the Bureau, and it is here where we officially begin our assignment.

We are silent on the way there. Erec’s face is hardened into an expression that appeared more brackish than serious, like he had eaten something unpleasant. Isabelle gives me a look every now and then, and I return them with knowing ones of my own. Keeping to the shadows, we easily avoid the guards posted outside; whoever the owner is, it was foolish of them to make it so obvious that they held the coveted documents inside. _First mistake_ , I think as we slipped inside a window, _unless they_ wanted _to—_

“They are over here,” Isabelle whispers, pointing to another room. “Follow me.”

Despite the churning feeling of dread in my stomach, I tail her, with Erec close behind. The closer we get, the louder my instincts scream at me. As she peers into a nearby room, I ask in a low voice, “How do you know the location of the documents?”

She motions for us to follow again, and we enter an office—a suspiciously tidy one. “There they are,” she says, ignoring my question as she heads to the desk located at the far end.

“Isabelle,” I say, placing emphasis on her name as she acquires a stack of papers, “what is going on? How do you—”

“Stop where you are!” she bites out.

I throw up my hands in a bid of non-offense while Erec’s eager face screws into spiteful anger.

“You traitorous bitch!” he shouts, his blade extended. “You’re a Templar!”

I watch her, my feelings a mixture of disbelief and betrayal—and yet, what I believe hurts the most is the fact that she told me nary a hint of her intent. “Why didn’t you tell me what you knew?” I ask, failing to disguise the pain in my voice. “I could have helped you! I could have …”

Erec shoots me a look of fury at my statements. “ _Both_ of you have conspired against the Brotherhood?!”

Isabelle stares at me with sympathy as she clutches the documents, and says, “I was not sure if you were ready, and I …” Smoke fills the room—and it isn’t from the bombs we carry in our pouches. “Shit,” she mumbles, then sticks out a hand. “Come with me, Shay—to the Templars. The Assassins will use this information to throw the world further into chaos.”

My allegiance tears in two separate directions, and a conflict washes over me. “Isabelle, I … I made an oath. I can’t just—Isabelle!”

Crimson gushes from her abdomen, and she falls; in an instant, I am beside her, cradling her weakening form in my arms. The documents are scooped up, and a figure disappears out of the window.

Erec is gone.

“So they already knew,” she murmurs, coughing up blood as her eyes begin to slip closed. “I should have been more careful.”

“ _They_?” I ask, shaking her to keep her conscious. “The Assassins?!”

“It was all a set-up” she answers, and reaches up to touch my cheek. “The entire mission … It was nothing more than a ruse to lure out any traitors—namely, myself.”

“So you never really left the Templars then,” I say, more to myself than anything. “Why? Why would you go to such an extent?”

“Because, the Piece of …” A violent cough wracks through her. “Go, Shay. Get out of here before—”

“No! I refuse to leave you!”

“Go!” she manages, before screams erupt from further inside the household. “They claim to never harm the innocent, and yet …” Her eyes fall shut, and her breathing slows to nothing.

I shake her again. “Isabelle!” The smoke becomes thicker, and I struggle to breathe. As the walls begin to crumble at their foundations, I carefully place her now still body upon the floor and jump out of the open window.

The fall is painless compared to the ache in my heart and mind.

 

**PRESENT**

I make my decision: I can no longer stand behind those who would go to such lengths to preserve so-called ‘freedom’. The Assassins give not a care about how their actions spread chaos, sending the world into an endless spiral of pandemonium.

Their barbaric machinations must end.

I exit the bath and towel myself off, before acquiring an outfit more suiting to my newfound inclination. On the worn blanket, I leave my robes, now nothing more than a reminder of my folly—and of my shifting allegiance. With my hidden blade now equipped, I slip outside through the window, my steps soft as to not alert any of the Assassins. If they sense me—which I do not doubt they do—they are unaware of my intention. _Good_ , I think as I slink across the rooftops. _It will be easier this way._

I do not know where I am going, only that I need to get out of the Brotherhood’s reach—but I remind myself that their reach is far, and I will surely be in danger at every turn.

“Where do you think _you’re_ going?”

I pause, but do not turn around. “Erec,” I say coolly, “I’m going for a nightly stroll. Is there a problem?”

Though he is still, I hear him extend his blade. “Where are your robes, Shay?”

I cannot help but chuckle darkly. “I left them behind, seeing as I don’t need them any longer.”

He rushes at me; despite his quick movement, I easily sidestep his lunge. “Did your Mentor ever teach you to assess your target before acting?”

“Traitor! You—” He is cut off when I grab him by the collar.

“See, this is your problem, _Assassin_ ,” I say, allowing a scowl to twist my face. “You all stick your damned noses into affairs which you should stay out of, and do what you please in the name of free will.” I wrap my hands around his neck, tightening my grasp thereafter. “You _disgust_ me.”

His eyes plead with me, and he barely chokes out, “L-Let me … go …”

In what he probably thinks is an act of mercy—or stupidity on my part, because I don’t think for a moment that he won’t try and kill me in retribution—I release him. Before he acts, _her_ face appears in my mind.

_My hands are stained with blood … Now the earth shall be stained with theirs._

I slit his throat and depart for the harbor a wanted man.

 

**FUTURE**

I have come a long way since my days as a fresh-faced inductee into the Templar Order. At the time, with Haytham Kenway leading the Colonial Rite, the Assassins would have been wiped out—if not for a certain impediment by the name of Connor. Though Haytham had been making use of him to further benefit the Order’s cause, I suspected that one day, the boy would become an even bigger thorn.

Haytham made his choice—and now here I am, occupying the very same desk we’d once conducted business at.

I hear a knock, and a voice behind it asks, “I have important news. May I come in?”

“You may,” I answer, my quill still dripping with ink as I continue to write on the parchment.

The one that enters my office is a budding member of the Order, Nicholas Hargrave. He’s done great work in many of the past missions I had assigned to him, and has the makings of a future Grand Master. “He refuses to act; France is rotting from the inside, and he does nothing to ensure that our control is secure.” I hear him shut the door and approach my desk. “Shall I give word then, Grand Master Cormac?”

I pause and look up from my document to stare at him firmly. “Tell Robespierre to proceed with the coup; Mr. de la Serre must die.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like what you read, please leave some kudos and/or comment to let me know! Constructive criticism is always welcome, so don’t be afraid to say what’s on your mind.


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